


Be Still My Soul, You’re Home

by OnlyOneWoman



Series: A Simple Man [14]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Era, Canon has more or less committed suicide by now and I regret nothing, Caretaking, Crack Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Family, Family Loss, Fear, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, I never promised consistancy, Illiteracy, Injury Recovery, LITERALLY, Love, M/M, Matelots, Medical Procedures, Memories, Ned is a brute and Billy loves him, Not Canon Compliant, POV Alternating, Pain, Past Child Abuse, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Reading, Self-Hatred, Serious Injuries, Sorry Not Sorry, Strangers to Lovers, Talking, Temporary Blindness, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Weakness, Widowed, World of Darkness, Writing, at all, because I keep ruining them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:53:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21538540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyOneWoman/pseuds/OnlyOneWoman
Summary: “Wha’s this?”“The alphabet.”“Ye’re daft. I cannae bloody read.”“Exactly.”Well, this... this is just strange and I don't know what this story is doing to me, but apparantly, Billy thought Ned needed to learn how to read and write, even if his angry lover is still in a blindfold. And oh, we get a pretty angry Dr. Howell showing up :)This is, of course, to you, E_A_Phoenix, with love, and naturally, the title is inspired from Nightwish's "The Poet and the Pendulum" because why not.
Relationships: Billy Bones/Edward "Ned" Low, Edward "Ned" Low/Eliza Marble (past) (mentioned), John Silver/Muldoon (mentioned)
Series: A Simple Man [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1530410
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Be Still My Soul, You’re Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rising_Phoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rising_Phoenix/gifts).



**Billy Bones**  
“Clay…?”  
“Yeah. Wet.”  
“You gonna mend the roof or what?”  
“Not really.”  
“Well…?”  
  
Silver looks curious, but that’s his nature and Billy realises there’s no way the sly quartermaster will do as asked without knowing why. He sits on one of the old, creaking chairs, his crutch leaned against the tarnished table. Billy looks at the partly closed chamber door, lowering his voice.  
  
“I’m making a board…”  
“A board?”  
“With letters…”  
“A board with letters…?”  
  
He doesn’t want to explain and Silver will find out anyway. Billy is tired and he misses, well, not the sea or the raids, really, but the crew. Even Silver, which is strange. The quartermaster looks tired too, there’s something dark about him these days, despite the smile and then Billy remembers: Muldoon is still away, the entire crew, of course, but the absence of his matelot seems to affect Silver more every day.  
  
Billy understands that all too well. It doesn’t require a comment from him, the dark circles under Silver’s eyes and the way he’s seemingly unknowingly, constantly looking onto the sea, like the needle on a compass to North. Many times, he’s wanted Silver to be the one feeling cast aside, not knowing, carrying the burden of not being in control thanks to clever words, but not today. Silver is in pain, not primarly from the leg, but from the absence of his matelot and that makes Billy feel a great deal more patient.  
  
Silver tilts his head.  
  
“You’re teaching him how to read?”  
  
Billy nods, for a moment embarressed for his lover, as if reading is a skill more common than it is. The curlyheaded man looks impressed though.  
  
“He’s been a rather successful captain for this long, without knowing how to read?”  
“Apparantly.”  
“He asked you to teach him?”  
“Not really.”  
  
The unreadable smile. A snicker, then a sudden glimpse of surprise in the eyes and Silver shakes his head, still smiling.  
  
“You’re a suprising man, Billy. I’ll get what you need to teach your savage basic tools for civilisation. Anything else? Ink and paper, perhaps?”  
“I’m a little short on coin as it is…”  
  
Silver just snorts.  
  
“I’ve been the one receiving charity from the crew more than anyone, Billy. Don’t think about repaying me. I mean, seriously, _don’t_.”  
  
**Ned Low  
**“If this is another grey tit poem…”  
“Relax, I’m not wasting Shakespeare on you again any time soon, love.”  
“Thank ye, _mate_.”  
  
He can’t say the word. _Love._ It’s just too strange, as foreign as reading to him and he stiffens a bit when Billy takes his hand. It’s not that he doesn’t trust him, but it’s still early to remove the blindfold and that makes Ned cautious. The huge hand brings his, in comparison actually not too small one, to something coarse he reckognizes as dried clay with hollowed lines. He frowns.  
  
“Wha’s this?”  
“The alphabet.”  
“Ye’re daft. I cannae bloody read.”  
“Exactly.”  
  
Billy takes his right index finger gently. It’s not broken and the tip is put on one of the hollow lines where the bigger hand draws it upwards, then back down and finally across.  
  
“This is an A as in abaft…”  
  
Ned doesn’t answer, can’t come up with a quick insult or self-degratory response, not when he can hear how serious Billy is about this.  
  
“And this is B as in binnacle… C as in cutlass…”  
“Where did ye come across this… thing?”  
“Silver actually made it.”  
“ _John_ Silver?”  
“Is there more than one? I asked him to get me clay for it and he returned with a finished board. He’s better at copying than I am, so this way it’s better.”  
“Why…?”  
“Because I asked him and he’s not an entirely selfish person. Now this, this is a D as in…”  
“Daft lad?”  
“Was thinking Davy Jones’ locker, but we’ll go with daft since you’re fond of that word. And here we have an E as in…”  
“Eejit?”  
  
Billy makes a soft nibble onto his earlobe, not even a bite.  
  
“Was thinking Edward, but as long as it sticks.”  
“I’m a savage, Bones. I don’ need to read.”  
“Yeah, you do. Here’s F for I don’t give a _fuck_ and here’s G for _give_ no fucking quarter.”  
  
Without his eyes and strenght, it’s a useless endeavor to stop the annoying man now and Ned submits to the impromptu lesson without too much serious grousing. He’s complaining throughout the entire alphabet, but it’s more out of habit and principle than any real objection. And for what it’s worth, it’s a way of passing time and coming up with stupid words to remember letters.  
  
H is for _hempen halter_ , I is for _Ivy flower_ and J for _jewlery_. K is obviously _keehaul_ and L, well, instead of the first two given examples – love and Low – Billy chooses _life_. It goes on with M for _matelot_ , N for _Ned_ and O for _ocean_ and by then it’s getting too much for Ned, but he lets his determined lover finish the entire alphabet with _parlay, quartermaster, rum, sails_ and _tits, upstream, vessel, whore_ and _yard.  
  
_“How do ye spell Bones?”  
“B-O-N-E-S.”  
“An’ _ye_?”  
“Y-O-U.”  
“Cunt?”  
“G-E-N-I-U-S.”  
“Liar…”  
  
He feels the smile onto his neck, his hand is tired and gets heavy in the other man’s. There’s a kiss, light and chaste where the smile was.  
  
“Lets rest some, love. You’re a fast learner but you’re getting out of breath.”  
“I’m barely sitting up.”  
“Still, you need to rest.”  
“I’ve lost my ship an’ more o’ my bloody sight, my money an’ now I cannae decide if I wannae get a wee sleep or not?”  
“You wanna stay bedridden longer than necessary?”  
“Fuck no.”  
“Then stop arguing about silly shit and just rest, you idiot.”  
  
**Billy Bones**  
Learning to read words is easier than to read a man. To know when to come close, when to back off, when to talk and when to let the silence speak, is a difficult and uncertain language and holding Ned’s sore hand to help him trace the lines in the clay, felt good. Like it mattered, for real. To have that hand learn how to form letters instead of inflicting pain, feels like a thing Billy’s parents might even be proud of.  
  
The fact that Billy now is cradling the man may not be a thing to feel pride of. He doesn’t know what his parents would think of him being a sodomite, only that they’d most likely be more appalled by the piracy and the kind of man he’s fallen for. The thing is, Billy isn’t really sure who that man is. He has too many sides, too many layers only recently turning visible, it’s difficult to tell if it’s the trail of blood and blind rage, or the softness of the now broken hands and the love shown through grief that defines Ned Low.  
  
Not being proud of his feelings, doesn’t mean Billy is ashamed either. He’s lived more than half his life among pirates by now and the morals he’s holding onto has very little to do with where you stick your cock. He doesn’t consider himself a decent man, he’s not that delusional, but he’s not the soulless monster civilisation needs him to be either. What he feels for Ned most certainly includes lust, and a lot of it, but it’s not only – or even mostly – that.  
  
Neither his nor Ned’s hands are stained with blood right now. His own are cleaned with soap, Ned’s are still wrapped in linen and the last tools they held, were of clay, not sharpened steel. The breaths from the now thinned out chest are even, almost relaxed and in rhythm with Billy’s.  
  
_I love you, Ned. Simple as that.  
  
_Billy looks down at the scarred face, softened from peaceful sleep and he wonders when love was ever something simple.  
  
In many ways, love, just as friendship, is a form of contract. You earn it by being something for someone, by trading trust and favors, by watching each others’ backs and in the long run, Billy supposes it has very little to do with the romantic fairytales and elaborated poems. They’re the roses, where accepting the hardship and working together is the kale and potatos, keepng you alive so that the scent of roses can be appreciated at all.  
  
Billy has always prefered the saltstained air of the ocean and he loves how that scent is part of Ned. It unites them, makes them of the same species just as the blood stains and the gunpowder dust on their clothes, the scars and blemishes from fights, battles and hard work, and the lesson learned of how, when your family of flesh and blood has been ripped away, you need to make a new one made from necessety and the idea that contributing with what you have to give others, is as much a bond of family as blood.  
  
That’s why he can be here, on shore, with his wounded lover. He’s using the amount of work, solidarity and trust he’s given the crew for long years to buy time for Ned to heal some. Slightly surprised, Billy realises it’s actually the first time he’s done that. He can’t recall having been away from his chores for more than a few days due to injuries or fever and he’s very rarely used up his entire amount of earned time off. It wasn’t an active decision, but it comes well in hand now. And Flint hasn’t sent any words of disapproval either.  
  
Being away from the Captain feels good too. Flint’s darkness is of another kind than Ned’s, and Billy is still oblivious to the heaviness of it, how the burden of being quartermaster and then first mate, has meant a lot more than keeping the crew happy and the ship in order. Silver took that role when Billy was supposedly drowned and since he came back, they’ve shared it, naturally, because the position is one neither of them really wanted and Flint’s darkness is of a kind that can suffocate you entirely. Billy has no idea how he’d managed it alone in the long run and he suspects that the reason Silver has, is Muldoon. Their love, in the kind of form it takes, might not be any more – or less – simple than the thing he shares with Ned.  
  
And just because Billy is literate and his lover isn’t, it doesn’t mean he has the words to describe this madness that’s apparantly called love.  
  
**Ned Low  
**_The scream almost scares himself awake this time. No blindfold in the world can keep the images in his dreams hidden and he sees his little girl burn on the ship he’s set fire to. Elizabeth is standing there, her dress and bonnet in flames and Ned holds the torch in his hand. And in the bow, instead of the figurehead, hangs Eliza, loose and dead in the noose, still with the bundle that is their son in her arms. Little Edward is crying._  
  
“Ned! Ned, darling, wake up! Oh, love, it’s a dream, wake up!”  
  
He’s screaming, but can’t tell if he’s awake or not. Sweat is soaking his body, he tears at the blindfold and his hair sticks to his face. He’s tasting something foul in his mouth and his insides are flipping. The ship is burning, his family with it, and it’s driven further away from him on the water.  
  
He did this. He murdered his family. He sat them on fire and watched them burn. A heartless monster.  
  
A slap onto his cheek suddenly wipes out the image and Ned stares out in frozen terror as the wildfire is replaced with single flame, showing a face he knows but can’t name or place. Hands are cradling his face, dark eyes looking straight at him.  
  
“You’re dreaming, my sweet. You didn’t kill them, Ned. Eliza and your son died in childbirth and that wasn’t your fault. Your daughter is safe with her aunt in Boston, you’ve not hurt them, love. Elizabeth is safe, Ned.”  
  
Hearing Billy say his wife’s and little girl’s names and his own in the same loving voice breaks the damm and the tears he’s been able to hold back for a few days now, are let loose. He doesn’t know how he feels, it’s almost like bodily function only, the streams coming from his seeing as well as completely blind eye.  
  
“They burned…”  
“No, lovey, they didn’t. Your mind is confusing them with people on the ships you raided.”  
“Monster… I’m jus’… a monster…”  
“Then so am I, love. I’ve watched prizes burn too, with innocent people on them, screaming. It doesn’t matter what you felt when doing it, love, because you weren’t worse then me, or Flint, or Vane or anyone else here.”  
  
It doesn’t make sense and Ned only feels more hatred, more disgust. He balls his fists, pressing them onto his chest.  
  
“I… let’em take me… Like a _whore_ …”  
  
He says it through gritted teeth, like it’s a forced confession and the shame is too much, too overwhelming right now. He wants to rip someone, something, anything apart and all his hands are met with is a wall of flesh that wont be intimidated, can’t be broken and instead it’s Ned, again, who’s the crashing wave against the unyielding rock that is Billy.  
  
“You didn’t _let_ them do anything, my love. I… I’ve been raped too… So has Silver, I think. And Read, but you knew that already… Man or woman, weak or strong… When you’re in chains, it doesn’t fucking matter, Ned. What matters is that we survived.”  
  
Billy sounds so calm, so determined, so… fucking convinced. As if what was done to him can’t touch him anymore. As if it didn’t turn him perpetually weaker than other men. The huge arms are pressing him closer.  
  
“You _survived_ , Ned. You came back to me, lovey. I cried myself to sleep every fucking night after we parted that last time… Couldn’t for my life figure out why… Guess I’ve just never loved someone before… I mean, like this… You being taken from me, is _my_ nightmare, Ned.”  
  
A sigh, a kiss, soft but determined on his tarnished skin.  
  
“If you don’t want to be with me as before, I understand that, but please, don’t leave my arms again… Not entirely…”  
  
**Billy Bones  
**“If your weren’t so bloody tall, lad, I'd punch you…”  
“Doc, I…”  
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”  
“Keep your voice down! He’s sleeping!”  
_“He?”_  
  
In another time and place, the absolutey baffled face of Dr. Howell would have made Billy laugh, but this is neither and instead he keeps blocking the door, protecting the sleeping secret in there as the doc looks like he’s about to commit the kind of violent acts he normally is put to heal. To say Billy is surprised to see him, is an understatement an he closes the door behind him, realising it’s morning. Again.  
  
The doc is livid and that’s not a usual sight and neither particularly welcome now. Billy folds his arms.  
  
“I thought I had permission.”  
“Aye, but you can’t just fucking disappear like this, Billy. The men get anxious and Silver…”  
“What about him?”  
“We need to take another piece of his leg. The fucking idiot refuses to tend to his wound and the Captain…”  
  
Dr. Howell actually rolls his eyes and looks to the sky as if expecting some devine answers to the dark mystery that is their illusive Captain.  
  
“The Captain is in one of his _moods_ again and with Muldoon gone and you here…”  
  
He throws his hands out and Billy nods slowly. He understands more than well how it feels to be facing some of Flint’s darkness and how, with both him and Gates and also Muldoon gone, there’s no one left to stand between Silver and that pitch black hole. Unless…  
  
“Doc, is there any need for a new rigger or cook at the moment?”  
“We need any pair of extra hands available who know how to tie a fucking knot and peel potatos.”  
“Even a girl, passing as a boy? Strong as hell, skilled with a gun, quick learner.”  
“A girl?”  
“Anne Bonny was thirteen when she sailed off with Rackham.”  
“She has a younger sister or what?”  
  
Billy snickers.  
  
“In spirit, maybe. Just… look for Bonny, alright? Tell her I sent you and that I put in a good word for _Mark_ Read.”  
  
The doc shakes his head.  
  
“A woman onboard… Billy, you know that’s a danger.”  
“I didn’t take you for a superstitious man, Howell.”  
“I was thinking about the men.”  
“They wont touch her. Not if Silver’s there and she’s keeping her disguise. She can yell at him about his leg as good as I can. Any word of Muldoon yet?”  
“Nothing. But there’s no use in hoping. It’s been two weeks and the last we saw of him, was when he fell overboard.”  
“I came back…”  
“Aye, and that was pure luck, boy. Not sure God will grant us the same favour twice.”  
  
Howell is calmer now, maybe he just needed to let off some steam and he nods at the door.  
  
“Do I know him?”  
“No.”  
  
Billy smiles.  
  
“You don’t seem surprised, doc. That it’s not a woman.”  
  
The glare from Howell is more intimidating than his bone saw.  
  
“I’ve sailed with this crew for more than fifteen years, Billy. I could write a fucking book about all the cocks and asses I’ve treated on men thinking themselves too good to use oil and condoms. And I don’t give a damn about who you’re fucking, but if you havent let a doctor look at him yet…”  
  
Billy clears his throat and Dr. Howell steps closer.  
  
“Open the door and let me do my job, lad, or _you_ might not have one once your matelot is up and running again.”  
  
**Ned Low**  
“He insisted…”  
“Aye, apparantly. I don’ need help.”  
“I’m afraid you do, my friend. Billy, get me some water and soap. The hell have you done with his eye?”  
“Which one?”  
  
The two men, one known and the other a stranger, are bickering and that’s reassuring. They know each other well and Ned knows his lover wouldn’t let anyone in that he thought would hurt him. He feels Billy’s hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Can you sit up, love?”  
  
No snort, no words of disapproval at the endearment. Of course, they’re pirates and matelotages not at all unusual, but words of affection in the open are. The doc from Billy’s crew doesn’t seem bothered though and the unknown hands carefully lifting the shirt to have a look at Ned’s back are gentle, experienced and effective, but not overly soft.  
  
Calloused fingers are tracing his spine, pressing onto sore spots and Ned grunts when they hit his left shoulder. The doc sighs.  
  
“This is dislocated, Captain.”  
“Is it?”  
“You can’t tell?”  
  
Ned shrugs and the doc huffs.  
  
“You can’t feel how ajar it is? Billy, how did you miss this?”  
“Uhm…”  
“Fucking idiots… Hold him, Billy. Jesus Christ, look at his neck! Did you _try_ to break it?”  
  
The angry doc all but growls out short instructions and Ned soon finds himself laying on his back, good shoulder held down by Billy and with a somewhat cracking sound that follows onto icing pain, the doc is snapping first his apparantly dislocated bone in place, and then, with an almost vicious crack, his neck.  
  
The relief is instant and so, so unexpected, pressure suddenly just coming off his head, shoulder andd neck in waves and Ned gets tears in his eyes.  
  
“Are you alright, Ned? Doc, the hell did you…”  
“I’m fine, Billy… Really… Jesus… The fuck happened with…?”  
“It was all dislocated, Captain. Turn to your stomach. I’m not breaking him, Billy, stop glaring! Joji taught me this, you know that.”  
“Yeah, and I’ve seen necks after _he_ fixed them.”  
“Is he available, this Joji?”  
“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that, Ned.”  
“How about ye, doc? Ye’re in dire need o’ a mate from the finest parts o’ London?”  
“I prefer my partners with more tits and self-perception, but thank you, Captain. Now, turn.”  
  
Putting bones back in their places is an intense but surprisingly shortlived pain and while the twist of his neck makes the world spin and the one of his right hip leaves him loosing his stomach on the pillow, it’s worth it and he’s panting and coughing through laughter, tears and the vile taste of lost broth.  
  
“How…? What did ye do with my leg…?”  
“Put it back in place, Captain. You’ve gone around with that for long?”  
“Years, doc…”  
  
**Billy Bones**  
Neither lost gunners, moody captains nor disgruntled doctors could make Billy leave Ned’s side yet. And Howell would probably crack Billy’s bones out of alignment if he did. With firm orders to keep his matelot warm, clean, hydrated and still in bed until further notice, the doc writes another note for himself and leaves.  
  
Billy intends on washing Ned right away but has to abandon that plan in favour of taking his now very lax matelot into his arms and simply let him cry. Ned is a sobbing mess of loose limbs and Billy is worried Dr. Howell actually did hurt him some too. He kisses the hair.  
  
“Are you alright, darling?”  
“Fourteen…”  
“Huh?”  
“S’been like tha’ since I was fourteen… The neck, the bloody shoulder…”  
“Fuck, that’s… How did it happen?”  
  
Ned lets out a teary laughter.  
  
“Father was more drunk than usual an’… well, I got in the way…”  
  
Billy feels sick. Angry and sick and he swallows hard.  
  
“Your own father tried to break your neck?”  
“Nah, he was too deep in his bottle to know wha’ he did. For all he knew I could’ve been some pickpocket down the tavern. As I said, I jus’ got in his way… Jesus, I thought it was supposed to feel like tha’ for… An’ it got worse in the… dungeon…”  
  
Tears. Usually, Billy would try and soothe them, make them stop after a while but he’s getting the feeling that Ned needs this. That whatever those dislocated bones has kept pressed down for almost half of the man’s life, just has to be allowed to flow.  
  
And of course the days in captivity worsened it. He takes Ned’s hand, stroking it.  
  
“How the hell has you functioned at sea with that?”  
“S’not bothered me all the time an’… Well, I’m jus’ not as sensitive to pain, I guess… Mostly, I’m quite numb.”  
  
A sigh.  
  
“At least until _ye_ got in _my_ way, bloody pirate… Ye’re determined to ruin me, right?”  
  
Ruin as in caring. As in mending what’s used to be broken. To insert feelings where there was numbing. Billy nuzzles the now not as sore neck.  
  
“You call this ruining you?”  
“Well… My reputation an’ habits, at least…”  
“Then I’m pretty determined, yeah.”  
  
Then he realises something.  
  
“How old are you? Never cared to ask.”  
“Thirtyfour. Ye?”  
“Twentynine.”  
“Tha’s how old I was when my… When Eliza…”  
  
Ned goes silent and Billy just holds him quietly. He doesn’t want to pry too much into his lover’s past, poking at the memory of a beloved wife and son lost way too soon. There’s a daughter too. A little girl Billy has seen glimpses of during Ned’s nightmares. She can’t be that little anymore and Billy can understand all too well how Ned wouldn’t want her to know whom her father has become.  
  
After all, it only took one killing, Billy’s first, to decide not to return home, because how would his parents ever live with the shame? How could they love a son who’d become the kind of man who let anger and revenge go before justice through court?  
  
He can understand the grief and the regret, yes, but he understands Ned’s decision too.  
  
“Guess we’re both a long way from home, you and I…”  
“Maybe…”  
  
His wild, lost and found lover gets heavier onto his frame and goes still. In this silent little house, barely reminding of a home, they can both rest now. Billy glances at the board of letters.  
  
Tomorrow, maybe, he’ll show Ned how to spell _Elizabeth_.


End file.
